Arranged
by rscoil
Summary: Christine marries a masked king, but the evening does not go as expected. (M for adult topics, not explicit.)


Christine took a deep breath as the doors swung open. Then, she stepped forward to meet her destiny.

Layers of exquisite white fabric rustled as she walked and there was a swell of music from the orchestra. Philippe smiled gently at her, his eyes admiring and apologetic. Both wished that their father was here for this duty, the occasion of giving her away.

She couldn't blame Philippe, not really. He'd stalled on her behalf for years, postponing marriage under the excuse that she was still grieving. But the council was firm. She had to marry before her twenty-fifth birthday and that was a week away.

That didn't mean she was happy about it.

But she was royalty and she held her head high. The hundreds of guests would see only a blushing bride on her way to the altar, not the scared woman who was starting to think a sleeping curse sounded preferable to this.

She could finally see the groom as they approached. At least, she saw the shape of him. Every inch of flesh was covered in some manner. Even his face was concealed by a gilded mask. A circle of gold around his head marked him as the king.

Rumors swirled around that mask, even in her country. Some said his face was so terrible that the old king had died at the sight. Others said he had a normal face, but covered it out of eccentricity. Christine wondered if she would be permitted to learn the truth.

The king inclined his head to her as Philippe placed her hand in his, every movement cautious and rehearsed. Even his voice was measured and restrained.

The ceremony passed in a blur as the two strangers swore their vows. She wondered if either of them truly meant the words. When the time came, she kissed the lips of the golden mask and they were announced to the world as husband and wife.

Two maids helped her out of her gown after the stiff and formal evening. They laughed and chattered as they replaced the garment with a clinging chemise that left Christine feeling far too exposed.

They led her to the door of his chambers and giggled as they wished her a good night.

Standing alone in the hall, she was almost paralyzed by terror. In a few moments, she would be expected to perform wifely duties for a man she had not even known for an entire day.

He'd been perfectly formal all day. Stoic and regal, though it was hard to be otherwise with the mask. He spoke to everyone who congratulated them, and yet seldom spoke to her.

Before she could lose her nerve, she knocked.

"Come in."

She pushed the heavy wooden door open and a rush of warmth greeted her. A massive fireplace with a cheerfully crackling fire dominated the far wall. Thick scarlet curtains were draped across the windows. A large bed with matching draperies sat empty.

The sound of a violin beckoned to her from the adjoining room. Surely he hadn't invited musicians for their wedding night?

He had his back to her as she entered what appeared to be a study. He'd removed the cowl he'd worn all day and she could see dark hair sticking out at irregular angles.

Gone was the ramrod posture she'd seen all day. His whole body swayed in response to the music. Graceful fingers moved across the strings of the violin. He looked relaxed and so much more human than the automaton she'd spent the day with.

"Navid, I have not had a moment to myself all day. Surely the affairs of the kingdom can wait until I finish the third movement."

So, she waited and enjoyed this private concert while it lasted.

Soon, too soon, the piece drew to a close and he turned to face her.

She felt the blood rush from her face. Distantly, she suspected that she'd gone as white as her chemise.

He was a corpse. The king was a corpse.

Her husband was a corpse.

His skin held a sickly tone, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His cheeks were drawn and his eyes set deep in his skull. In the space where there might have been a nose, she saw only a ghastly chasm.

He stood staring at her for what felt like an eternity, until she was uncomfortably aware of her own state of near undress.

She ducked her head. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."

He seemed to snap out of his trance. His voice was gentle. "There's no need for all of that. Here in my chambers, I am only Erik."

"Then you may call me Christine."

"Christine." He tested the name on his tongue, as though sampling a fine wine.

"Yes, Your-" she stopped herself. "Yes, Erik."

He smiled at that, the brief glimpse of his teeth emphasizing his skull-like appearance.

His eyes swept down her body before quickly returning to her face. "Are you cold?"

"What?"

"You are hardly wearing anything. Are you cold?"

She nodded mutely and he ushered her into the other room. He knelt before the flames, stoking the fire and adding a new log.

"There are dressing gowns and blankets in the closet, if you'd like one."

She was quick to accept the offer. When she reemerged, she was wrapped in a dressing gown that was far too long for her.

He sat curled on the floor, staring into the flames. The position was distinctly un-kinglike, but she wasn't about to correct him.

"It is I who should apologize," he said heavily. "I had hoped to expose you to my face in a gentler way, if at all. I am sorry for catching you unawares."

"I should have made my presence known."

He waved a hand. "Navid gives his final report of the day every night at ten. I was the one making assumptions about who was at my door. May I ask why you are here?"

She stared at him in confusion. "It is our wedding night. Are we not supposed to consummate the marriage?"

"Do you truly want to?"

"It is my duty," she said carefully.

He pursed his lips. "If I am only Erik in these rooms, then you are only Christine. And how does Christine feel about such an act?"

"I don't know. Scared, I suppose? I barely know you." She sank to the floor beside him.

"My thoughts, precisely." He pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose. "But you must at least stay the night to keep up appearances. I shall sleep in the study. You may take the bed."

"You are not demanding anything of me?"

His amber eyes glowed like embers in the light of the fire. "No, and I never will. The choice will always be yours." The embers were extinguished as he closed his eyes. "And if your choice is never, I will not object."

She took his hand and squeezed it. They sat in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

"You can share the bed, you know." Christine's voice broke the silence. "There is enough room for us both, and you are likely as tired as I am."

"Erik?"

"Mm?"

"Why are there so many blankets?"

He laughed. "I am always cold. That's also why the fireplace is so large."

"Oh. Well, it's nice."

"I am glad you like it."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I just thought of something. Could you feel our kiss earlier?"

"Not at all."

She rolled to face him. "Would you like to feel it now?"

He turned to face her and his eyes were wide. "You would do that? You would kiss this face?"

"I would kiss my husband."

Unable to form words, Erik only nodded.

The kiss was sweet and gentle. She pulled back with a small smile.

"Good night, Erik."

"Good night, Christine."


End file.
